


attachment

by dnovep



Category: Phandom/The Fantastic Foursome (YouTube RPF)
Genre: 2017 - 2018, Animal Abuse, Candles, Depression, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Established Relationship, Food, Implied Sexual Content, Love, M/M, dan-typical loving insults, implied childhood neglect, not as dark as these tags make it sound wowza
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-04
Updated: 2020-08-04
Packaged: 2021-03-06 06:53:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,680
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25709245
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dnovep/pseuds/dnovep
Summary: Harlow’s monkey experiments, love, & Phil wrapping Dan in blankets.Excerpt: 'Phil’s a workaholic – it’s a very real problem, something he needs to work on according to Dan, and that doctor from that time he fainted, and, you know, most people in his life. He’s not a perfectionist, but once he’s got a project he’s going to work at it until it’s done. This project he has called, in his head, Operation Baby Monkey.'
Relationships: Dan Howell/Phil Lester
Comments: 24
Kudos: 57





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**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: THIS FIC IS NOT MEANT TO REFER TO OR IMPLY ANYTHING ABOUT THE REAL DAN’S ACTUAL PARENTS OR CHILDHOOD! i am 100% not suggesting that the real dan was neglected or mistreated as a child by his parents. this story is about a fictional dan & phil who are only based on the real dan and phil.  
> the video mentioned is real, but contains some rly distressing footage of animal cruelty.
> 
> big thank u @ transdimensional_void for reading this over for me!! ❤️
> 
> thank u for comments/kudos & pls let me know if u think anything else should be tagged!

The tomato sauce had started to boil and spit, so Phil turned off the heat, picked out two bowls, and spooned pasta and sauce into both. No cheese, of course. He scrunched his nose up at the thought. Dan was happy to go without cheese anyway. He carried the bowls over to the sofa where Dan was waiting, probably still on his laptop.

Phil really hadn’t slept enough last night. Lunch, then maybe a nap - although, they should probably film a gaming video or two later. Work, then sleep.

Dan was indeed still hunched over his laptop – strangely huddled _over_ his laptop instead of leaning back in his signature spine-slumping position. Phil dropped the bowls onto the coffee table, nudging Dan’s legs with his own, before he turned back to fetch forks and glasses of Ribena from the kitchen. As he left the room Dan mumbled a half-hearted “thanks”, still focused on his laptop screen. He must’ve been working on The Coming Out Video.

He had only started seriously coming up with ideas for it a month or so ago, compiling years’ worth of notes into linear sentences. Dan had a lot of big, conflicting ideas about what it could be, what it should be, and what it could mean for them; Phil was happy to read over Dan’s notes, throw ideas at it and support Dan when he doubted himself.

When he came back to the lounge armed with forks and half-empty cups he placed them on the table, then ambled around Dan’s long legs and fell onto the sofa. He closed his eyes for a second – definitely tired, they were stinging slightly even without his contacts in - then opened them, startled, when Dan toppled onto Phil’s side.

“Oof! Hey.” Phil awkwardly patted Dan’s hand, unsure of what was happening. “You okay there, mate?”

Dan sniffled a little. His head was on Phil’s shoulder, still watching the laptop screen precariously balanced on his knees. Phil couldn’t see his face, so he looked to the laptop for clues.

Youtube was open, a green tinted greyscale video of scientists continuing quietly. He reached over and moved his finger over the mousepad - the video was called ‘Harlow’s Studies on Dependency in Monkeys’. Dan gripped one of Phil’s hands with both of his own. Phil listened carefully and heard one of the scientists’ posh old voices saying “… now here are 106’s two mothers…” while the camera recorded two strange sculptures in a wire cage. A tiny baby monkey rushed into the scene. Dan squeezed Phil’s hand and made a very quiet little noise. Phil absently held his hands and stroked over his knuckles reassuringly, focusing on the video. What cursed corner of Youtube had Dan stumbled on to now? The little monkey on the screen ran to the softer sculpture, then darted over to the wire sculpture to drink from a bottle attached to the eerie-looking thing. Once it had swallowed a few mouthfuls of, presumably, milk, it ran back to the cloth covered sculpture’s ‘lap’. The monkey was rocking back and forth and looking around the cage, seeming anxious. Male voices spoke over the footage: “oh! He’s going back… He’s back on the cloth mother, and he’ll stay on the cloth mother.” A close-up on the baby monkey showed him sucking his thumb, the voiceover saying “… actually this baby spends 17 to 18 hours a day on the cloth mother, and less than one hour a day on the wire mother.”

Phil felt Dan shivering a little where he was pressed up against him. Phil glanced over to him - Dan was watching the video. He looked a disturbing mix of completely absent and frantic. The baby monkey continued to suck his thumb and stare around the cage with his huge black eyes, still rocking and shaking. Phil tore his eyes away and shut the laptop with his free hand. Dan breathed out shakily and when Phil leaned slightly to look at his face, his eyes were scrunched up tight. Phil leaned back against the sofa, looked up at the ceiling, and held tight to Dan’s hand. He took a deep breath, then shifted lightly to look over at him.

“… What was that? Dan?” He tried to make his voice as gentle as possible. Dan was still shaking a little, now staring unfocused and slightly frowny at the closed, silent laptop, breathing heavily like he’d just run a marathon.

“Um.” Dan’s voice shook more than his body. He cleared his throat, quietly, still not looking at Phil. “I was looking at scientific theories and ended up - so, there was this experiment. Called, uh, Harlow’s Monkey Experiments, I think. And, uh, these scientists – the Harlows – they were doing these other experiments they needed to breed monkeys for. But then it turned into experiments about how the monkeys coped without their mothers? These baby monkeys, they, um…” Dan sat up a little, still leaning on Phil, still keeping Phil’s hand in his own. Phil tried to make himself as steady and solid as possible. Dan’s eyes were darting around, reminding him of the baby monkey in his cage. When Phil stayed quiet Dan started talking again, barely pausing to breathe: “They gave the monkeys these two fake ‘mothers’, right, one cloth one and one wire one with a bottle. And I guess they thought the monkeys would prefer the mother who could give them food? But they didn’t, um, the monkeys all really preferred the soft mother. And they liked having soft blankets, and if they didn’t grow up with a cloth mother and, like, softness, I guess? They got really anxious and ill when they were older – sometimes, like, _physically_ ill. And –“ Dan’s voice was shaking again, badly. Phil would need to stop him soon, before Dan’s hyperventilating turned into a panic attack. Dan wasn’t crying, though his voice sounded near to it. He seemed more afraid than sad. “– the female monkeys they made get pregnant when they were older and they didn’t know how to treat their babies. And they all turned out really… really _weird_ and _sad_ and _antisocial_. And, God, just, those poor monkeys.” Dan’s voice trailed off and now, finally, he started to cry, taking one hand off Phil’s to furiously wipe at his face. He laughed, once, and said, quieter, “humans are so fucking _awful_.”

Phil pulled Dan onto his chest, cuddling him and resting his face on the top of Dan’s while Dan cried. He carefully rocked them both from side to side, humming slightly into Dan’s soft curls while they swayed. Dan clutched onto his t-shirt.

Phil was used to Dan’s Wikipedia journeys, how he would often pass on everything he’d learned to Phil as they made breakfast the morning after. Dan had taught Phil about obscure American politicians from the 1800s, the history of religion in Japan, extinct deep-sea animals, and extremely rare phenomena in space. And now he was telling him about an unethical experiment on baby monkeys. Phil kissed Dan’s head and asked him carefully, “Wikipedia article?”

Dan nodded into Phil’s t-shirt.

“And then you clicked on a link? To that video?”

Dan’s voice was muffled and small, “no. Googled it.”

“Okay.” Phil held Dan tightly. He paused. “You don’t usually go on Wikipedia journeys in the middle of the day.”

Dan ‘mm’ed and turned his head so that he could speak (and breathe) properly. “Read the article last night, was looking for science stuff for the script. But I couldn’t stop thinking about it, so, y’know.” He shrugged.

“What do monkeys and their mums have to do with being gay?”

Dan laughed again, sad and frustrated. “Nothing, you know how – I was looking at theories and that bullshit idea about not having two straight parents turned up and I just ended up…” he trailed off and waved one hand around in a circle-ish shape. He wasn’t shaking any more. Instead all the fight seemed to have left him limp and sad, propped up on Phil.

Phil pulled Dan up a little by his shoulders so that he could look at his face. Dan had mostly stopped crying, but there were still a few tears running over his rosy cheeks. He still wouldn’t make eye contact with Phil.

Phil rubbed his back while Dan shifted and sat up more, draping his long legs over Phil’s lap. He kept carefully watching Dan’s face while he said, “that was a really sad video.”

Dan coughed up a bitter-sounding laugh. “Really sad story! God, if they tried that experiment now there’s no way it would be allowed. Ethics committees would be all over them, let alone PETA!” Phil gently but forcefully tugged Dan back into his arms, his head coming to rest on Phil’s shoulder again. Phil sat for a while, looking up, thinking and frowning slightly, feeling Dan’s wet eyelashes tickle his neck every time he blinked. He wasn’t sure what to say, if he even needed to say anything. It felt strange to not instinctively know what Dan needed.

“My first bear was a monkey.”

Dan huffed. “I know.”

Phil nodded; of course he did, unlike Phil Dan remembered everything Phil told him about himself.

Baby Phil had called his monkey ‘Monkey’ – to be fair, creative naming options were a little beyond his capabilities at the time, being a baby and all. Monkey was a soft, comfy thing with gangly arms always open for a cuddle and huge plastic, shiny eyes, holding a tiny plush banana in one soft hand that child-Phil used to ‘feed’ him. Phil intended to keep Monkey his entire life. He frowned at the ceiling, trying to remember if it was in a box of important things in their storage container.

After a few more moments of quiet cuddling Dan shuffled out of Phil’s hold, leaning over to the table and sitting back on his side of the sofa with his bowl of pasta. Phil passed him the TV remote and picked up his own bowl, beginning to feed himself as Steven Universe began to play. He felt a little disappointed in himself, like he’d missed something important, maybe. Like, maybe Dan had been offering some sort of conversation cue there that Phil hadn’t picked up on.

As he lifted his fork to his mouth and back to the bowl, chewing mechanically, repeating the process without even thinking about it, he pictured the baby monkey again. While his eyes rested, unfocused, on the bright colours and cheerful characters on the TV, Phil was picturing the monkey’s huge black eyes, how they had sometimes looked directly into the camera’s lens. The baby monkey sucking its thumb. It had looked so… _humanlike_. Poor baby. Poor monkey. Phil felt like there was a rock in his stomach. He had definitely missed something here.

* * *

That night, in bed with Dan flopped on top of him (for once asleep before Phil), he found himself returning to thoughts of the video from earlier. He remembered Dan saying, _if they didn’t grow up with softness they got really anxious and ill when they were older_. He stroked his fingers through Dan’s hair - lightly, so he wouldn’t accidentally wake him up. Staring up at the ceiling, listening to Dan’s soft, slow breaths, Phil tried to remember everything Dan had ever told him about his childhood. He’d always kind of played it off as nothing serious, but with a hint of anger hidden under everything he said. And hurt – anger and hurt. _My_ _Mum and Dad were really young when they had me, so, y’know, they didn’t really have time for a baby_. And, _She’s so quiet!_ _Oh my God,_ _I was a fucking terror as a kid, no wonder they ignored me so much._ And, _I literally don’t know how my school didn’t expel me, I was such a fucking attention seeker – ha, ‘was’._ Played off with unwavering eye contact, a quick shrug, a bold grin, like he was daring someone to disagree.  
_My Grandma pretty much raised me._ But she hadn’t lived with the Howells, had she?  
_Dad was always away working when I was a kid.  
Mum would throw a fit if I got the carpet at home that muddy.  
I mean, school was shit and then I had to go home and either be alone or get yelled at.  
I didn’t really have friends, before you.  
Second kid gets all the attention – suddenly the parents are ready to be parents. I guess it helps that he wasn’t an accident, they actually wanted him.  
Mate, your family are weird. They’re like a TV show or something. Explains you, I guess.  
_Sarcasm and envy, a loud laugh.

Phil had always felt uncomfortable when Dan acted like the Lesters were perfect – his parents definitely weren’t faultless. For a long time they couldn’t consider a world where being a ‘feminine’ boy wasn’t considered weird, and they were overly cautious about letting their children get lazy and reliant – sometimes to the point of pushing them into independence a little too early, maybe. They put their Christmas tree up too late, in Phil’s opinion, every single year, and had to be cajoled into board games. But they had always been there for Phil when he was growing up. Some of Phil’s earliest memories were of the softness of his parents’ hugs, the cosy wool of their jumpers encompassing his tiny body. He wondered what he would’ve grown up as if he hadn’t had that closeness. The problem with them pushing him to be independent had been that he felt _too_ safe and provided for with them. What would he be without the childhood that caused that? His anxiety would probably be a lot worse. He would definitely be sadder, more insecure in himself and his relationships. Phil knew love was real because of his parents. What did Dan’s childhood and family teach him about love? No wonder he had been so possessive over Phil, pre-therapy.

Dan’s fingers twitched suddenly in his sleep, a little frown-line appearing between his eyebrows, so Phil moved the hand in Dan’s hair to twist his fingers between Dan’s own, instead. Instantly Dan settled, his face smoothing out.

It was too late to be thinking so much. Phil shut his eyes, tried to think about nothing. He focused in on the sound of Dan’s breaths, and his own, slightly faster, until they fell into the same rhythm. Just before sleep hit him, images appeared behind his eyelids: of the baby monkey on his cloth mother’s lap, followed by a memory of tiny 19 year old Dan through the lens of a low-quality old camera, holding the Tonberry plush Phil had given him for Christmas that first year, grinning, saying _probably the single best present anyone’s ever given me in my entire life_ ; Dan putting on Phil’s green York uni hoodie, the reveal of his blushing face once he had pulled the hood down from where it had caught over his head; Dan getting ill and cuddling the ‘Where The Wild Things Are’ stuffed toy Phil had won for him in Blackpool.

Phil woke up early the next morning feeling much clearer and, after lying comfortably for a few moments under the warm weight of his still-sleeping partner, eventually snuck out from under Dan to make them both coffee and pancakes.

* * *

Phil’s a workaholic – it’s a very real problem, something he needs to work on according to Dan, and that doctor from that time he fainted, and, you know, most people in his life. He’s not a perfectionist, but once he’s got a project he’s going to work at it until it’s done. This project he has called, in his head, Operation Baby Monkey.

Loosely, the aim is to _smother_ Dan in care.

* * *

Dan was glaring at his computer screen when Phil tiptoed up behind him, then attack-hugged him around his chair. Dan squawked and batted at his hands.

Phil, giggling, turned Dan’s chair around in a circle, then half again so they were facing each other. Dan’s face was bewildered and adorable. Phil smooched his forehead, wet and messy, then darted away to the kitchen.

“Um, excuse me?” Dan called after him. “Excuse me?? I have been attacked! In my own home!”

Phil laughed loud like an evil witch and snatched some cereal from a box.

* * *

“I love you.”

“I – wait, were you literally waiting to ambush me fresh from the shower… to tell me you love me?”

Phil felt a little awkward. He didn’t _say_ this so much. It was easier to just bite Dan’s shoulders and know he would know what that meant. But he’d thought maybe Dan needed to _hear_ it sometimes too, so –

“Um, yes. Hi. Love you.” He raised his hands, like he was going to hug Dan, then hurriedly shoved them back into his pockets instead.

Dan paused. His hair was dripping fat water droplets onto his shoulders. “Okay. Thank you? I love you too, you loon.” He had his ‘this guy’ face on – a smile tugging at his mouth and both eyebrows raised.

Phil nodded. “Good. Okay, I’m gonna –“ and waved at somewhere behind him.

“Wait, you’re not like, dying, are you?”

Phil made a weird squeaky mash of words and waved his arms around. “No! Ugh!” Then darted forward and squeezed Dan into a quick bear hug, pretending to bite at his head.

Dan had just lifted his arms to hug Phil back, when Phil stepped back, nodded again, once, then darted away. He could hear Dan calling after him, “okay?”

This might take some practise.

* * *

It was both nice (to learn something new with Dan after so many years) and sad (to realise how awkward it felt for Phil to _verbally_ tell Dan he loved him after so many years).

It got easier, although no matter how many times he did it (dropping a kiss on Dan’s head while he played Guild Wars and darting away from his shoving hands while calling “love you!”, murmured into his soft skin in bed, weakly uttered when Dan made bleary-eyed-morning-Phil coffee) it was still a conscious effort. But every time he thought maybe he should just go back to saying “I hate you” when he meant the opposite, giving Dan things, or touching him, he remembered the adorable blush that swept over Dan’s face every single time Phil told him he loved him with the exact words.

After a few weeks Dan seemed to pick up that this was a thing they did now and had started to say it back, though still occasionally stammering the words out or following it with terms of endearment like “idiot” or “stupid” or “you menace”.

One night, curled up in bed next to each other, still slightly too warm and sweat-sticky but too tired and endorphined-up to move apart, Dan said something into Phil’s chest. Phil hadn’t heard the words but replied with a guess: “night night love”, and a pat on his curly hair.

Dan snorted (which should’ve been an unpleasant feeling against his chest, but Phil was too tired and in love to care). He turned his head slightly so Phil could hear him when he said, fondly, “you pillock. You didn’t hear what I said at all, did you?”

Phil patted his head again, “shh. Sleep time.”

Dan bit the closest nip in response, making an over-sensitive Phil jerk and whine pathetically. Dan patted the nipple in sympathy, as if it was a puppy who’d just run into a table leg, then balanced himself up on one arm so he could look at Phil face to face. “I _said_ , you’re up to something.”

Phil briefly considered whether he needed to put his glasses back on, but decided against it. He could _hear_ the blurry-Dan-coloured-blob’s raised eyebrow. “Swhat?”

“Oh my _God_ , fine, go to sleep you great oaf.” Dan pecked his nose, “but I know you’re up to something.”

* * *

Dan, sat at the desk, surrounded by empty and half-full coffee mugs, glared at the approaching Phil. “No, no more.”

Phil looked at the fresh mug in his own hand, then back at Dan.

“Phil! Decaf or not, that’s enough now mate, thanks.”

Phil nodded, his eyes huge and round, then turned around and headed back, presumably, to the kitchen.

Dan sighed in relief and a little guilt. Honestly though, Phil had started bringing Dan ridiculous amounts of hot drinks and snacks while he was trying to _work_. At first Dan had thought Phil was finding excuses to take breaks from his own work, which Dan could only support, but that didn’t seem to be the case – it kept happening whether Phil was working or not. Then he’d thought maybe Phil had done something and was trying to get in Dan’s good books before he found out – eaten all their cookies, maybe, or finished Dan’s cereal. But again, he couldn’t find evidence of any Phil-wrongdoing. Phil had seemingly just taken up a habit of hovering around Dan, bringing him things all the time, telling him he loved him. It was annoying – honestly, Dan’s life was so _hard_ \- but also quite sweet.

Dan mostly just wanted to know what Phil was up to.

5 minutes after Phil had left he returned with a glass of water, smiling. Dan sighed and nodded, prompting Phil to leave the glass on the desk, among all the mugs. Phil pecked the top of Dan’s head and told him he loved him, then practically skipped away. Dan said, exasperated, “at least take some of the mugs with you”, then hid his blushing face between his hands and the desk, groaning.

* * *

Dan hadn’t had a grey day in weeks – at least a month. Today wasn’t even a proper dip, not really. He was just tired enough that his thoughts were at half speed and the idea of getting out of bed, standing up, having a shower, etc. was enough to make him burrow back under the duvet.

He’s been slacking on his exercise recently and hasn’t been leaving the flat enough. It’s his own fault – when is he going to learn that he needs to do this stuff, every single day. God, the thought of that is exhausting. Every day, for the rest of his life. Ugh. He should do some yoga today or something. As soon as he can get out of bed.

Behind him Phil shuffles and smacks his lips, a tell-tale sign he’s waking up. Dan tries to make himself as still and quiet as possible. He _will_ tell Phil, just not straight away. Let Phil think the day might be okay before he goes and ruins it with his stupid brain.

Then Phil rolls over and spoons Dan, with a happy little hum. “Awake?”

“Mm.”

Phil pauses. Shit. He’s getting really good at recognising it, even just from the tone of Dan’s voice.

There’s a weird little moment of quiet where both of them are debating how to bring up the elephant in the room, then Phil just gives him a quick squeeze and rolls away. Dan listens to his footsteps pad softly out of the room and squeezes his eyes shut. His chest clenches. The stupid little voice in his head tells him he’s being abandoned, wants to call out to Phil, to beg him not to leave him like this.

* * *

Phil’s racing around the kitchen so quickly he stubs his toe on a chair leg and wastes a good minute swearing and hopping around. He’s spilt water and cereal all over the counter, shit, that’s not gonna help – he swept it all into the bin, grabbed the glass and bowl, and ran back towards the bedroom - only to stop halfway and run straight back to shut all the cupboard doors he left open. He felt like he was on a game show or something, trying to balance everything he was carrying while he speed-walked. It was a miracle he got back to the room without dropping them. He took a moment to breathe, then opened the door with his hip.

Dan was laying exactly where Phil left him.

“Breakfast!” Phil struck a stupid proud pose, his chest puffed out.

Dan didn’t move, so Phil headed over to the other side of the room where he’d be in Dan’s eyeline, stumbling over a pair of obnoxiously bright clothes _someone_ had carelessly left on the floor. He got back into his pose, “breakfast!” But now Dan was hiding his face in the pillow.

Phil paused, then popped the glass and bowl on top of the bedside drawers (it was a tight fit but Phil’s a pro at the Cup-Bowl Challenge by now, so he made it work) then ducked so his face was next to Dan’s. He brushed Dan’s hair a little, smoothed the duvet over his back. “Are you uh. Crying?”

Dan snuffled a little.

“Okay. Can you look at me please?”

Dan made a whining noise like an embarrassed text tone, but turned his face to look at Phil. His hands were still bunched up in the duvet under his nose, but Phil could still see that his face was pillow-wrinkled and his eyelashes were watery.

“Oh, baby.” Phil brushed over the bridge of Dan’s nose gently, focusing on his freckles and not how a tiny bubble of snot was peeking out of one nostril. He cleared his throat. “I bought you breakfast – cinnamons and water.”

Dan frowned and murmured “water instead of milk?”

“Soya.” Phil grinned, but his eyes were still worried.

“Oh. Thanks.” Then Dan turned his face back into the pillow.

“… Right. Um, well, they’re on the tall tub.”

Dan didn’t reply.

Phil awkwardly shuffled. “I’m just gonna… get myself some coffee then.”

Dan turned his face so he was looking away from Phil. He tried not to take it personally – sometimes Dan got like this on days like these. Sometimes it was a good idea to just give him a little time. Phil twisted his fingers around the bedsheet.

Okay – he was just gonna get some breakfast, then he’d suggest Dan joined him in the lounge to watch him play The Outer Wilds or something.

Still, he dithered about for a moment, getting dressed just to have something to do in case Dan decided to talk to him. Which he didn’t.

Ten minutes later (after a bathroom break) Phil was staring at the cupboard of mugs. The kettle finished boiling and he still didn’t move. There was a plan brewing somewhere in his head, he just had to give it a minute.

* * *

_Now, this hurts_.

Dan spent all his energy dragging himself out of the bed, stumbling out of the room, dragging the blanket over his shoulders like a cape, and even called Phil’s name. He’s not here. Phil’s gone.

Dan stood in the kitchen for a minute, his head empty, looking at nothing. At some point he sat down on the cold kitchen floor and ducked his head down to hide in the duvet. His tummy grumbled. There was a piece of Curiously Cinnamon on the floor. Dan watched it. After a few minutes of that his eyes got a bit weird, so he clenched them shut. He felt empty. He was pretty sure it wasn’t hunger, even though the cereal Phil had made for him was still untouched in the moon room.

* * *

When Phil arrived back home he had to spend a few minutes creatively cursing, trying to manoeuvre the bags in his hands around the key and the door knob so he could open the front door. The Starbucks cups nearly tipped over and he hissed when he felt a drop of macchiato hit his hand - this was gonna be worth it though. The image of Dan smiling in his mind gave him the energy to cart his haul up the stairs. Then he saw Dan.

He was just a lump of grey duvet and curls on the kitchen floor, not moving.

Phil’s heart stopped, then bursted into an irregular double-speed. He dropped the bags and put the cups down, then ran the three steps to sit in front of Dan.

For a second he didn’t know what to say. Dan was just staring at the floor, the duvet wrapped around him. “I’m home.”

Dan didn’t react. Phil looked at him, frantically asking his anxious brain what he should do, then came to a resolution and nodded once - he crawled over to collect the things he’d bought and dragged them back over to Dan.

“Okay, so. Here’s my thoughts. First thing – coffee, I was getting myself one so I got you a peppermint tea, um, here – you can have some of my macchiato too, if you want - and two muffins, you want blueberry or chocolate?” Dan didn’t move. “Ok, we can share, cool, so – then I had this idea – you know how sometimes you’re stuck in bed? And like, the light can be too much, but you’re scared of the dark?” Dan finally lifted his head up to look at Phil, sighing out his nose like he’d just lifted a box full of stones, and lifted one eyebrow slowly. “Hear me out, okay – remember when you told me how you and Josie talked about how environment effects mood and you told her about how nice smells make you happier?” Dan nodded very, very slightly. It was enough encouragement for Phil to continue, “I had an idea then but I just never got round to it, to get you –“ here Phil paused to pull some little square boxes out of a Debenhams bag, “- fancy bedroom candles! For when you can’t get out of bed?” He trailed off.

Dan smiled a tiny little smile, looking at the boxes. “You went to… buy me posh candles?”

Phil nodded enthusiastically, pulling the candles out of their boxes. “Wanna smell?”

They spent the next ten minutes passing the candles back and forth between them, sniffing and discussing them until Phil felt a scent-headache coming on.

Then Phil reached over to the other bags and showed Dan the fluffy new blanket he bought him (“because textures are important too, yeah?”) and various types of Haribo and chocolate (“we can share!” “Sure Phil, we’ll definitely both have equal amounts of these.”).

* * *

Later Dan was on the sofa watching Phil play Zelda. The bags were still scattered over the kitchen floor behind them. One of the new candles, Bella Freud’s Night Music, was burning away on the table. It was a lovely moment, peaceful and soft, but something still caught at the edges of his thoughts. He had to say something.

“You left me alone to buy me stuff.”

Phil glanced over at him, but then went straight back to playing. “Um, yes? Yeah.”

Dan practiced what he was going to say for a minute. “I love the candles. And the blanket. And I love you.” Phil grinned, starting to say it back. “But… ” Phil’s mouth shut. He paused the game and looked over at Dan, who pulled the new blanket up to his nose. “I wish you hadn’t left.”

Phil tilted his head. “What?”

Dan sat up properly, “Okay, I love you so much and I really am so, so grateful – it’s all really thoughtful – but. What I want most, when I feel like this, is – you know. You. Your, like, _comfort_.” He winced and made an exaggerated gagging sound.

Phil looked confused and a little anxious, eyes wide. “You want my… comfort?”

“Like… ugh,” he rushed it out like the quicker he said it the less embarrassing it would be, “cuddles and stuff.” Phil bit his lip, so Dan continued, “not that I don’t appreciate the gifts because oh my God I do, these are fucking amazing, but sometimes I just want you to, you know. Hold me.”

Phil shuffled over to cuddle Dan into his side, “like this?”

“Yeah, this is nice.”

“I’m sorry I left you. But, um, I wish you had told me that was what you needed. I thought maybe you wanted alone time.”

Dan looked up at Phil, “and sometimes I do, yeah! But sometimes, I don’t know, I guess sometimes I just don’t wanna feel like that and be on my own.”

He watched as Phil looked at the Pause screen for a moment, his brow furrowed. He looked like he was thinking really hard.

“You uh… you okay there bud?” Shit. The candles were all genuinely wonderful and this blanket was so fluffy and soft he might’ve teared up for a bit when he first touched it. He should’ve just kept his stupid mouth shut and appreciated the presents. He was so ungrateful, why did Phil even put up with –

“You’re right.”

“Um?”

Phil turned completely to stare at Dan. “You need the nice things _and_ the me. I mean, the soft fabric and the love.”

“Right. Yes. That’s a bit of a serial killer way to put it but, yeah, I guess that’s essentially it.”

Phil stared at Dan intently. “I love you so, so, so , so much.”

“I love you too. So, we’re okay? That’s okay?”

Phil leapt forward and squeezed Dan into the tightest bear hug, the new blanket between them. “We’re okay. I love you.”

Phil remembered Dan at eighteen, the first version of Dan he’d met. The Dan he saw through pixels, sitting in his brown room. The Dan who went wide-eyed and quiet around Phil’s parents, who tweeted about his loneliness and sadness, who searched for affection and attention on Twitter and YouTube and Dailybooth. He bit Dan’s freckly red cheek and whispered “love you” into his skin.

That night Phil curved around Dan, who was wrapped up in his new blanket like a little bite of sushi. With the duvet, the blanket, and Dan’s natural radiator-tendencies it was way too warm, but Phil clung on to Dan until he groaned and whined “I love you so much Phil but if you don’t give me a bit of space I’m literally going to melt”.

* * *

From that moment on Dan and the new blanket were pretty inseparable. Phil, proud and enamoured, sneakily took photos of him wrapped up in it, evidence that his boy was soft and safe.

* * *

The next time Dan couldn’t get out of bed Phil told him he was going to get them breakfast and water, talked to him about what they could do together at home, gave options for shows they could watch while they cuddled in bed, all while he wandered around the room setting up and lighting expensive candles.

* * *

“Did you know there are machines that hug you?”

Phil looked up from his laptop – the page on Dan’s phone looked like an article. An episode of The Office that they’d both seen at least three times played quietly in the background. He blinked at Dan from behind his glasses, “like, androids?”

“No, I mean literally these machines are _made_ to give hugs – they’re for people with autism, you know how for some people it calms them down to be squeezed?” Phil nodded, so Dan continued, “it sounds like a weighted blanket but like, all over.”

Phil couldn’t not notice the wistful tone to Dan’s voice. “Aww, I’ll be your cuddle machine Danny!” He clambered over the sofa cushions to squeeze Dan’s cheeks obnoxiously, Dan screaming through a grin and pushing him away, dropping his phone.

“Oi oi oi! No!”

Phil settled down into a weird almost-in-Dan’s-lap cuddle, gently holding his head against his chest. “I dunno, it sounds kinda scary to me. I mean, who’s to say it wouldn’t turn evil and not let you go?” Dan grumbled into Phil’s t-shirt. “What was that?” Phil asked, nuzzling into Dan’s curls.

Dan turned his head to the side so Phil could hear (and so that Dan could breathe), “I said, you’re thinking of AI. This thing is literally just like, being in a giant waffle maker or something. Get off me you oaf.” As he gripped the back of Phil’s top while he said that, Phil decided to just fully settle down and squeeze him tighter. “Oof! Okay, okay, I get it – “

“Get what?”

Dan turned his head back into Phil’s shirt, but he still managed to make out “don’t need a machine”.

Phil kissed the top of his head. “I mean, I’ll get you one if you want. How much are they? I’ll get you all the weighted blankets and cuddle machines you want little monkey.”

Dan’s head shot up, very nearly bashing Phil’s. “Little – excuse me??”

Phil cackled, trying to stay sat on Dan while he blustered and prodded Phil’s ribs. “You’re my little monkey!” And then, “ow!”, still laughing, when he was pushed to the floor. Dan kicked at his knee softly.

“You git. I don’t need a fucking hugging machine, okay?” He looked flustered and all his usual little red patches were flushed. He stepped over Phil and went to the kitchen. Phil, smiling, watched him go from his spot laid on the floor, upside down from this angle. “I’m making you a decaf, you definitely don’t need any more caffeine.” Phil laid back, closed his eyes, and listened to Dan grumble to himself while moving around the kitchen. Cupboards opened and shut, a spoon tapped against the side of a mug. In the background, Jim was telling the camera “… she put this on a hot dog, a couple of years ago, because she thought it was ketchup, …”.

* * *

“I know what you’re doing.”

Phil continued kissing over Dan’s neck. “Don’t know what. You’re. Talking about.” He murmured between kisses.

Dan sighed happily, loosely holding Phil’s ‘alien-shape’ head, pulling him up ‘til they were face to face in the dim candle-light. “I’m fine, Phil. I know you love me. I’m very loved.”

Phil felt his cheeks flush and looked away from Dan.

Dan gently tilted Phil’s head back to face his, and kissed the bridge of his nose. “I’m okay.” He murmured against it. “You don’t need to keep spoiling me. I promise I’m not feeling, I don’t know, _sad_ or _neglected_ or whatever it is that inspired you to go on this campaign – “

Phil pulled back just enough to look at Dan, challenging. “I _like_ spoiling you.”

Dan’s smile was huge. “I just mean, I _know_ you love me, I don’t need this special treatment – oi!” The ‘oi’ was because Phil had broken out of Dan’s loose hold and began kissing all over Dan’s face; his nose, his eyes, his cheeks. Dan laughed into a kiss when Phil moved down to pay attention to his mouth.

After a few minutes of making out Phil moved to return to Dan’s neck, but stopped short to lift his head up and say, quickly, as if he was embarrassed, “you’re my baby monkey. I am _always_ going to look after you.”

Before Dan could respond Phil dove back into the crook of his neck and licked from his collarbone to his eyebrow, distracting Dan into cackling and pawing at him.

* * *

Phil had had a plan last night to wake Dan up by cuddling him up in his new merch-prototype weighted blanket and having breakfast in bed watching whatever Dan wanted. Dan beat him to it – Phil woke up to a tray of cereal, buttered toast, and coffees being dropped on the bedside table, Dan climbing over him to his side of the bed. He supposed it worked either way, the end result was the same: Dan and Phil, cosied up in bed, cuddling and bickering over crumbs and spilt coffee. Phil drained the last drops of coffee from his mug, then turned to Dan and said “we’re both monkeys.” He poked Dan’s nose. “We’re each other’s monkeys”.

Dan didn’t look away from the TV and smiled at Phoebe and Chandler, not Phil, while he said “mate, I’m trying to watch this.” But he cuddled closer to Phil in response, so he knew Dan understood. He always did. They were a little family of two and would therefore, naturally, provide each other with all the soft and yummy things, especially love. It was as simple as that.


End file.
